


Show, Don't Tell

by scorch66



Category: KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorch66/pseuds/scorch66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"He recently came to our dressing room bringing something like a poster saying 'I received it!' When he opened it, it was Kame's portrait. When asked who it was from, he answered 'I received it from Arashi's Ohno-kun.'"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show, Don't Tell

**Author's Note:**

> → Russian [translation](http://elianne.diary.ru/p182235160.html) by estalda @ lj ♥

**Title:** Show, Don't Tell  
 **Pairing:** KoKame  
 **Genre:** fail!angst  
 **Word Count:** 3.8K  
 **A/N:** Written for Cho Iside, as promised ~~last year, sob~~ ♥ It felt like the appropriate time to post this, given the recent baseball!KoKame snippets and the completion of your essays \:D/, even though you happen to be sleeping right now lol #timezonehate I hope this makes your morning brighter. :')  Thank you, Joobie, for your encouragement ;_; ♥

 **Summary:** _"He recently came to our dressing room bringing something like a poster saying 'I received it!' When he opened it, it was Kame's portrait. When asked who it was from, he answered 'I received it from Arashi's Ohno-kun.'"_  
\- Junno, Music Lovers, 2011

  
_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

Koki watches Kame's hunched figure lean towards a tipped styrofoam glass, brown fluid that smells very much like coffee spilling from within and onto the floor of the corridor. Kame is folded down onto the floor, looking much like a turtle, and he still appears impossibly small even after all these years, even though their builds are similar enough to allow them to share clothes comfortably. Kame's shirt inches up the curve of his lower back just enough to show that there's nothing underneath the denim of his jeans but skin and Koki tugs his eyes away.

"Watch it," Koki warns when Kame leans closer and his knee comes dangerously close to a tendril of coffee. Kame shifts and mumbles a thank you, the camera in his hand pressed firmly to his face like a masquerade mask transporting him to another world in which spilled coffee is a sight to behold.

The forgotten cup, that's all he sees.

When the clicking comes to a stop, Kame stands up and smiles down at the camera. Unlike the digital one Koki has at home, it's big and chunky with a lens the size of Nakamaru's nose, and most likely cost a small fortune.

"Kame, why do like taking pictures so much?"

Kame's eyes flicker up and Koki soaks in the attention he's been waiting for.

"It's... It's different. I get to see the world differently." Kame licks at his lower lip. "And I can show people what I see, the _way_ I see. I can lend them my eyes. I can make memories."

The camera lifts again and Kame has him captured in an instant.

_Click._

-

Koki thinks he understands.

They're both artists, Kame and him, only Koki sticks to pencil and paper. He takes pictures too but there's something about the intimacy, the possession of creating something with his own hands... It helps that he has some talent for it, not as much as his friends make it out to be, but enough to be considered well above Kame and Ueda's style of preschool scribbles.

Koki has been drawing as far back as he can remember, making handmade birthday cards and designs for clothes. Before he had joined Johnnys, he had dreamt of becoming a mangaka. Drawing was his first love; it was there before rapping and performing.

Koki still draws now. There's a cardboard box in the corner of his room filled with paper. Lined paper from notebooks, cards, napkins, pamphlets, dried out post-its, and even leaves. Any surface that had been available when his muse had struck and urged his hands to move. Koki's not picky; he just likes to draw.

There are doodles of Sakura and the rest of his children, sketches of clothing designs, and nonsensical patterns with endless curls that fill the page. There are landscapes and people and mundane objects. If Koki searched thoroughly, he doesn't doubt that he'd find a sketch of a fallen cup bleeding inky coffee onto the paper.

It's a mess. Shreds of Koki's thoughts and memories packed away in a torn collage.

At the bottom of it, however, lying flat against the base, is a folder. Beige and plain and swollen, the edges creased and the corners softened. Koki pulls it out and slips another paper, this time an old receipt he had found in his pocket, inside. On the back, there's a sketch of curvy lips stretching into a soft smile.

It's the one Kame wore when taking pictures earlier today. Another piece of Kame added to his memories.

-

Koki thinks he understands.

He draws what he sees, the _way_ he sees. But.

He isn't ready to share Kame with the world.

They can have the Kame they see on screen, but the backstage glimpses are his alone.

-

"Manager-san, shouldn't you be standing over there with the other staff?"

"Oi, I'm not the manager."

"Ah, my apologies. Ojii-san, you should go home now."

Ueda practically cackles when Nakamaru releases a drawn out groan that doesn't help his case at all and Kame's already doubled over, heaving and clapping. Koki watches from a couple feet away, his eyes trained to the long expanse of Kame's trembling throat and the joy pinching his eyes shut to make room for the huge smile splitting his face.

Nakamaru makes Kame happy. They all do, but Nakamaru especially so. Koki thinks he should mind but, strangely, he doesn't. He knows Kame and he knows Nakamaru and the affection between them isn't something he finds threatening because it's just that. Affection. It's something Koki can deal with because they're KAT-TUN and they're family and Koki would rather thank Nakamaru before pulling them apart. Thank him for tugging out a smile that's all childish glee in the way it lights up Kame's face to the point that he glows.

Koki's fingers twitch and he moves to grab a napkin from the table.

They're turned so Koki can only see their profiles but it's enough; he's been observing long enough for his imagination to fill in the blanks. Koki pulls a pen from his pocket and starts with the bridge of Kame's nose, sloping down and over the bump, dipping into the slope of quirking lips and ending in the long line of his neck. His hand jerks in short, sharp movements as he draws in the strands falling across Kame's cheeks and forehead. A little shading and it's done.

"You should show him."

Koki freezes for a moment before rushing to fold the napkin, hiding Kame away from sight. He can feel his face burning.

He coughs. "It's nothing special. Just a doodle."

Taguchi's eyes watch him steadily and it's odd because, for once, he's not smiling.

"But Kame's special to you, isn't he?"

Silence.

A trace of a smile begins to play across Taguchi's face at last and his hand falls onto Koki's shoulder and squeezes.

"You should tell him."

Only there's nothing to tell.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words and if that holds true, Koki has a written an entire tome about Kame.

So really, there's too much to tell.

-

Koki has to remind himself that there are cameras rolling, an audience of wide-eyed fans watching them. He schools his face, tells himself to smile as Taguchi opens the topic and Kame continues on, gloating pride coating every word. A ten year old promise finally fulfilled.

"He drew it for many weeks, looking at my picture everyday."

And it's there, in everyone's mind because Kame has always had the tendency to phrase things in the oddest ways, ways that prickle uncomfortably in their careless naivety. Koki follows up because that's what he does; in KAT-TUN, they have roles--unwritten and implicit--and his is to protect, to stick close to Kame and buffer against the shock with his vibrance.

"Incredible, it's like a lover! Like lovers in a long-distance relationship!" he says, and all the floating thoughts disperse into laughter.

The prickling sensation doesn't shake off him, though, even as his chest rumbles along with the crowd. It sinks deeper with each strained smile he sends the camera's way.

-

It's funny, Koki thinks. Looking at someone's picture for a month or so is a sign of love. Kame and Ohno. Lovers. If that's the case, then he and Kame aren't lovers at all. Because a month... for him, a month is a fleeting second.

Lovers, no.

Kame might as well be Koki's air.

-

He stops texting Kame. No late night random thoughts, no _we should travel again somewhere. you and me. Taguchi is optional_ or _hey, I saw your poster when I went out today. looking good_. He texts Nakamaru instead and Nakamaru sends back snapshots of his lunch, too kind to ignore the sudden spam.

At first, Koki doesn't think Kame even notices the change and the thought corrodes at his heart even though it's entirely possible; Kame never replied to him in the first place and Koki understood because Kame was-- _is_ \--a professional and nothing was allowed to scrape at his polished idol veneer. It still hurt, more than it should have, because despite knowing better, Koki has the insufferable habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve and not tucked away in the safety of his ribcage.

The cracks appear when Kame sidles up to him one day. It's during a photoshoot and Kame looks alive and fresh, the eyebags still there but less pronounced. His eyes jump about the set before fixing on him and Koki feels his fingers twitch with the need to draw the nervous furrow of fine eyebrows on paper.

"We haven't talked in a while," Kame says. _All_ he says before lapsing into a waiting silence.

Koki wonders why it's always him who has to reach out when Kame can go around, freely handing out his picture and accepting portraits, while Koki is left to steal glances and collects scraps of him to store away in a flimsy cardboard box.

It shouldn't have to be him.

"You've been busy," he replies. "I've been busy too."

"Koki--"

But he's already turning away to watch Ueda toss the plastic grapes they're supposed to be using as props at Nakamaru.

Kame doesn't call him again.

-

"What are you drawing now?" Taguchi asks from where he's slumped over the table beside him. The music plays around them, blanketing the room where they hold their radio program in soothing notes that soar inside his ears. Koki draws in a kite with a long tail of bows and dots the paper with stars.

"The night sky," he says distractedly as he erases an errant line.

Taguchi hums. "Not Kame this time?"

He stills, and then draws a thin slice of moon with hands that shake only once.

"Let it go."

There's the sound of the chair scraping against the floor and Koki glances to the side to see Taguchi sitting up right, his eyes soft yet piercing, his gaze stronger now that his bangs are lifted off his face in a ridiculous triangle.

"He knows, you know," Taguchi says. "He knows you're avoiding him."

 _So?_ Koki wants to ask but the twinge in his chest doesn't allow him to; he lies instead.

"I'm not."

"You're not drawing him."

"I like to draw other things, too."

Taguchi grins, catching his words and reeling them in before Koki can swallow them back. "You like to draw him."

Koki snorts under his breath. It's an understatement. When you simply like something, you don't obsess over it, collect pieces of it over the years and store it away in the corner of your room. On the other hand, Koki likes animals and now practically owns a zoo under his rooftop. Maybe he's made of extremes--too loud, too colourful, too crazy, too much. Extremes hidden beneath understatements such as _like_ and _friend_ and _just a little hurt_.

"I like to draw other things, too," he repeats.

"But Kame is special."

Koki sighs and drops his pen because his hands are becoming slippery and he doesn't want ink sliding all over the page. "Kame has always been special."

"Why?"

"What do you mean _why_? You know him. There's no reason, he just _is_."

"You don't need a reason either, Koki," Taguchi whispers and when Koki turns to ask him what the hell he's talking about, Taguchi interjects. "You love him."

The denial dies in his throat as the last notes of _Zutto_ fade into nothing.

-

Koki has neither talked to nor drawn Kame for days. The ache grows heavier because habits are hard to break but addictions are even harder. His fingers still twitch, though, whenever he catches Kame's figure from the corner of his eyes, blurred by Koki's hasty movement to look away, to turn back and retreat.

Every time he presses pen to paper, Kame's proud words come to mind and the page remains blank. He wonders where Kame has hung the portrait, wonders if it's displayed in his living room so Kame can gloat at curious guests or in the privacy of his bedroom, falling asleep to his own face. He wonders what medium Ohno used. Charcoal, pencil, paint, pastels. Koki wonders why it even matters.

He wonders if what Ohno saw, looking at Kame's picture, is what Koki sees when he looks at Kame. Because Koki has never needed pictures when the real thing is within reach and so much more.

He wonders if Kame would be half as delighted if Koki showed him his folder.

-

Kame corners him in the washroom, or that's what Koki wants to believe when Kame walks out of a stall just as he steps to the sink. Kame's wide-eyed reflection tells him otherwise. At least the surprise has rendered them both at a floundering disadvantage.

Predicatbly, it's Kame who catches his footing first.

"Hey, long time no see," Kame says and moves to the adjacent sink, the rush of tap water louder than his voice. Kame knows how to speak in understatements too.

"Yeah." Koki grabs a paper towel, contemplates storing a bit in his pocket for later--for when he can draw how the white lights sharpen Kame's features, narrowed eyes that appear brown in the sunlight and lips pursed in worry--before drying his hands and throwing it into the trash bin. "You should call me sometime."

A turn of the table.

He doesn't know what he would do if Kame _did_ call. He wouldn't hang up because Koki can shut Kame out but he can't, will never be able to, shove him away. And then he blinks because the thought is useless; Kame nevers calls and Koki has long since stopped expecting him to.

"Okay," Kame says even though Koki knows that the fact that he's trying to let go won't change a thing between them. He gives a small, perfunctory smile and heads to the door, not bothering to say goodbye since they'll see each other later on for a meeting.

A hand at his sleeve yanks him to a stop.

 

"You're mad at me," Kame says and his jaw is rigid, chin sticking out in defense. His eyes are hard and sharp rather than pleading and the look flares something inside him because, fuck it, Kame has no reason to get angry at _him_. "If you have something to say to me, then say it to my face. Stop running."

Koki has Kame pressed between the edge of the sink and his chest in an instant. In the back of his mind, he knows that Kame is strong enough to push him away just as easily.

"Say it, then," Kame hisses.

Koki doesn't say a word at all, just slams his lips onto Kame's and presses down, trying to imprint the feel of Kame, the dips and curves and soft turns where there used to be sharp edges, into his body. Kame stands frozen and Koki pulls away, breathless, when he hears footsteps near the door. Standing this close, he can see every mole scattered across Kame's face, a cluster near the wet puff of his lips, and his fingers twitch from where they grasp at his waist.

His hands fall just as the door opens.

It's Ueda.

Ueda's eyes scan the room and Koki is already brushing past him when he gasps, "Oh fuck."

Koki rushes down the hall, his lips burning and his insides tearing apart. He needs to get away, far, far away from Kame who didn't even _move_ , just stood there like he needed to indulge Koki. Let the poor guy have a taste because he isn't even worth a shove. _Fuck_.

Koki is absent for the meeting.

-

It's funnier, Koki thinks.

Kame might as well be Koki's air, but around him, Koki can't breathe.

-

He wants it to stop, the longing, the hoping against hope.

He digs through the box, digs deep into his memories and pulls out the beige folder. He hasn't touched it for weeks. He thinks it's for the best. There's a temptation to open it once more, to follow the drawings with his fingertips for the last time but he squelches it. He's not callous enough to throw it away so there's only one thing to do.

He tapes the folder, packages it into a neat parcel and writes on it: `To: Kamenashi Kazuya`

The slips of stolen glances return home, their artist unknown.

-

Ueda sends him worried looks while Nakamaru texts him endless pictures of his meals or his dogs. Koki replies with pictures of Sakura in a tiny dog kimono he had sewn and ignores the questions Nakamaru slides underneath the spam of pictures. Questions like: _are you okay, did something happen with Kame, do you need someone to talk to_. Koki can imagine Nakamaru wringing his hands with every typed word.

He ignores Taguchi's calls too because they're always the same.

-

"Just tell him already."

"Drop it."

"You can't expect him to--"

"I kissed him." Koki's lips burn as the words tumble out.

Taguchi is quiet for a moment before he quietly asks, "Kame said no?"

Koki laughs. It comes out broken and bleeding.

"I wish he did."

No was better than nothing. _Anything_ was better than nothing.

Taguchi's voice picks up. "Then there's still--"

"It's nothing, Taguchi. _Nothing_."

-

Kame calls him too, once, and Koki surprises himself by not answering.

-

It's almost been a week when there's a knock at the door and Koki pulls it open to see Kame standing behind it, Koki's eyes immediately falling to the battered, beige folder he holds in his hands. He has all but a moment to take it all in before he's shoved inside and Kame slams the door shut.

"How did you--" Koki cuts himself off when the folder is tossed onto his coffee table like a hapless pile of nothing. He flickers his gaze upwards and Kame is watching him, his eyes clear and face unreadable. Koki wonders if his mortification is as visible as it is strong, clawing at his gut and burning his skin. "Fine," Koki chokes out, his voice nearly warbling and _fuck_. He surrenders. "I get it, okay. You don't--"

He's jerked forward by the collar of his shirt and his words cut off once more, this time by the hard seal of Kame's mouth.

"You're such a fucking coward," Kame hisses between his lips before they topple onto the couch, and for a long while, those are the only words spoken.

-

They say a picture is worth a thousand words and if that holds true, there are paragraphs in Kame's heated gaze, sonnets in the glide of his body, haikus in the flutter of his dark eyelashes.

Koki only hopes he's reading him right and at this point, with Kame's moans filling his ears, he thinks he is.

Art can only be so abstract.

-

"How did you know?" Koki whispers when they're both spent and exhausted, lying on the floor now that the couch is too warm for comfort. He watches Kame sit up and reach for the folder, the muscles of his back rolling under sweaty skin.

Kame pulls out a sketch of himself with pins stuck in his hair at odd angles, his face clear for the makeup artists to dab at. "I don't remember posing like this. These aren't from photoshoots."

"Maybe you have a very talented stalker."

Kame flips through more drawings and shakes his head. "Some of these are from four years ago. My hair changes."

"A very talented and dedicated stalker," Koki adds, more than a little embarrassed and even he thinks it's silly to blush after what they did just minutes before. He can't help the color rising to his face, though, because watching Kame sift through the tangible memories he had etched with ink and love feels equally, if not more, intimate. It's one thing to lay his body bare, but his thoughts and feelings are another matter all together.

Then again, Kame has had access to all of him for longer than Koki would admit.

His stomach swoops when Kame turns to him with a look and whispers with a pleased smile, "Is that what you are, then? My stalker?"

Koki reaches up and plants a kiss under his ear. "You tell me."

The folder drops to the side and Kame pushes his back to the floor once more. He settles on Koki's midriff and sinks his hand into the long, black strands of Koki's hair, leaning down to peck at his chin.

"Why don't I show you instead."

-

Koki examines the portrait. Turns out it isn't displayed in either the living room or Kame's bedroom, but the guest bedroom. _To give my guests a lasting impression_ Kame had explained with a laugh. It's good, Koki thinks, even if it takes up a big chunk of the wall and, honestly? He could make a better one.

"Huh."

"What?" Kame asks from the doorway, arms crossed in amusement. "Are you going to have a jealous fit again? Do I need to send Nakamaru after you?"

Koki ignores the accusation because it's true he had moments where he dreamed of stealing the portrait and letting Koume chew it up for nesting material. Instead, he snorts. "So you're the one behind the daily menus he'd send me."

"Not really," Kame laughs and then shrugs. "I was worried. He was worried too."

"Sorry," Koki says sheepishly and takes another glance at the portrait before turning to Kame. "Let me draw another one?"

Kame gives him a look, the kind of look a teacher would give to an incorrigable student, before grinning through a sigh. "Isn't my real face enough for you?"

Koki blinks. It takes a moment and then he's releasing a loud whine. "Oh my god, I'm dating Taguchi."

Kame barks out a laugh and walks to him, stretching his arms out onto Koki's shoulder and leaning forehead to forehead. Koki's arms wrap around his waist reflexively, pulling him closer.

"You have me, you know," Kame whispers with a smirk that borders on shy. "I'm for your eyes only."

They're idols--they both belong to the world, but Koki understands what he means; these sneak peeks--the pillow creases lining Kame's face when he wakes up in the morning, the wrinkle of his clothes when he's too lazy to change, the anger and the sadness that's hidden before cameras--they're all for him.

Koki mouths a thank you against soft lips because he's never been good at sharing.

-

The folder eventually returns to its carboard treasure chest and Koki thinks it's only fair that he should capture Kame just as Kame captured him.

 

.end  



End file.
